


Stress Testing

by DarkShadeless



Series: Overseer Sar [9]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends: The Old Republic
Genre: Canon Typical Violence, Gen, Uhm, a very Sith approach to teaching, a... very Sith approach to motivation, and possibly comfort, he means well, i guess, i think, it's a lot, it's hard to tell, mention of the Korriban education system, overseer Sar being himself, so much cursing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-29
Updated: 2018-05-29
Packaged: 2019-05-15 18:19:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,592
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14795544
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarkShadeless/pseuds/DarkShadeless
Summary: One of the overseer's acolytes is having trouble keeping up.Or: Sar isn't completely unhappy his students aren't dying on a daily basis. That leaves him with other problems, though. Timmns is along for the ride.





	Stress Testing

 

 

Somminick Timmns will admit that his life currently holds more challenges than he expected to face when he made the decision to follow the call to arms against the Eternal Empire.

Like, say, instil inner peace in his young students while a Sith hangs over the practice field, a dark cloud promising retribution for every mistake committed in his presence.

One of the acolytes fumbles their kata. Sar’s immediate and biting criticism makes most of Timmns’ own pupils flinch out of their sequence. “Congratulations, you just got your kriffing guts torn out. Quit dragging your elbows, Rako! Guard up!”

The Jedi Master suppresses a sigh.

Should he interfere? Technically, they share the class. The way the Sith is driving his half to and past exhaustion can’t be healthy. He has watched the spectacle for weeks and it’s starting to turn his stomach. Doesn’t Sar know any moderation?

Maybe it was naïve to expect a Sith to stop before he crossed a line. That line is a few feet behind him and it isn’t a new development. Master Za'uir can theorize about his co-worker all he likes, he isn’t forced to witness this travesty.

In the first row of his end of the training area Juiinta looks about ready to start a mutiny. She isn’t the only one.

While it says good things about their compassion and the dissolution of certain us-or-them attitudes in their recruits, Timmns really doesn’t want to find out what will happen if they give the overseer a reason to do more than sneer at their own performance.

It comes as it must: On the next repetition acolyte Rako collapses, barely catching himself on the hard ground. Even from where Timmns is standing his ragged breathing sounds suspiciously wet.

His fellows ignore him.

Padawan Juiinta doesn’t.

She breaks formation at a run. Before Somminick can do something to stop her, the girl is already skidding to a halt next to her fallen classmate.

Her attempt at assistance is not appreciated.

Rako shoves her off with a snarl, eyes flashing yellow. By the shocked offense on her face the young Nautolan hadn’t expected that. Timmns can’t fully claim _he_ expected that reaction either. Intellectually he knows what Sith are like but-

“Halt.” Overseer Sar’s voice brooks no argument.

The acolytes freeze, in various points of their current kata. In the sudden stillness there’s nowhere to hide for the one who can’t follow that order.

Slowly, with measured steps, their teacher closes in on him like a hunting sleen.

“You’re the weak link, Rako.” The young man flinches. “Your whole class knows.”

Sar’s burning gaze slides to Juiinta, where she landed on her posterior. “Even the _Jedi_.”

Apparently his Nautolan student has more bravery than sense. Timmns would be proud of how her jaw firms in defiance under the scrutiny of a full blown Sith if he wasn’t so worried Sar will take her head off for it.

This is _it_. He’s let this go on long enough. _Too long, if I’m honest._

Before he can cut in though, his co-instructor continues, tone so soft it sends a shudder down his spine. What he says brings Somminick to an abrupt stop. “How many fully-armed people are at your back right now? _Don’t_ turn around.”

Juiinta’s tendrils writhe, plastered close to her head.

“That’s what I thought. Situational _fucking_ awareness. I swear, it’s like the whole lot of you wants to be chow.” With that charming aside he seems to dismiss the padawan completely in favour of his other victim. Timmns is immediately ashamed for the spark of relief he feels.

“Is that what it is, Rako? Because if we were on Korriban, I’d ask you if you want to _live_.”

‘Beyond the pale’ doesn’t begin to describe it. The damage it could do if they have this out right in front of their class is considerable but he can’t listen to another word of this abuse.

Maybe Sar sees that in him. He glances at the Jedi coming his way, tense with righteous fury, and clicks his tongue. “Class dismissed. Stay _right_ where you are, fodder, I’m not done with you.”

 

 

-

 

 

“What do you hope to accomplish? Leave him be!”

Sar is tempted to break something. _At least he managed to keep it zipped until we closed the door. Does no one know how to mind their own business in this place?_

Stuffing three people into their mynock-nest of an office is… cozy. Thank the crinking Force Rako knows better than to take up too much space. His shoulders are hunched as if he’s trying to make the predator out for his blood overlook him.

_Great. There’s some self-preservation instinct left in there. I was starting to doubt it._

“Do us all a favour and shut your damned trap, Jedi.”

For the minor miracle of the week the green nuisance actually does. Maybe because Sar sounds exactly as worn out as he feels.

He’s so done with this problem. If he’s honest with himself, he’s running out of ideas on how to tackle it. “Alright, dead last. Since we’re _not_ on Korriban, let me ask you this: I hear the healer division needs all hands on deck. I could transfer you out at the drop of a credit, not matter how much you suck. _Should I?_ ”

Instead of calming Rako down, being given an out makes his head snap up, tear tracks and terror prominent on his face. After weeks of watching him bumble along it’s not much but it’s better than nothing.

“No! I can do it, I swear!”

“Can you? Because I’m growing tired of you _half-assing_ every damned order I give you!”

Where he’s leaning against the wall, Timmns is starting to bristle again, his presence turning from a shiver into a _hail of needles_ on Sar’s shields. _Deep breaths. Choking anyone will get you nowhere. You’ve tried force, it didn’t help._

Well, it _might have_ but he’s handicapped. “Rako, I swear by my kriffing ancestors, if I was allowed to put a blaster to your head to motivate you, I would. Maybe send you on a nice little stint with the inquisitors. They always like targets for practice. Then I’d scrape up what they give back to me and see if I can’t pour it into a warrior.

But I’m _not allowed_ so you’ll have to find your _own damned drive! **Do you want to be Sith**_?”

A stunned hush settles over the hole in the wall they call their own.

All colour drained from his face, his student doesn’t seem to know how to answer that. Sar hadn’t expected him to. That is the whole damned problem.

“Look, if I chained Envela to the wall, nailed a lightsaber down out of her reach and told her that was her ticket, she’d _chew_ _off_ her own arm to get it. _Would you?_ ”

Rako swallows hard.

They both know the answer to that one. They both _also_ know that if he pushed his teacher hard enough Sar’d _really_ try that and he’d put a starving slice hound into the room _with_ him so he’d have a reason to make it quick.

Or learn how to kill frenzied wildlife unarmed. Win-win.

You know, if he was allowed.

With a sigh from the very depths of his soul Sar pinches the bridge of his nose. “Right.”

A whimper more fit to a dying mouse droid assaults his ears and his student finally finds his voice. “My parents will _kill_ me.”

_Yeah. I was afraid it would to turn out to be some bantha shit like this. I frickin hate getting the ones with a pedigree._

Ironic, seeing as his own would do a prize tuk’ata proud.

In Sar’s by now not inconsiderable experience, there are exactly three types of potentials that come out of Sith families. Those that think they are hot shit, those who actually are and those who are in it because mommy and daddy are going to use them for a blood sacrifice if they chicken out.

The first kind are a pain in the ass even if they are half as good as they think they are, the second are fine but not common enough. With the third it is all a matter of communicating to them that _their hang-ups don’t matter_ because if they flunk they are _dead_.

Not always easy. At least without putting them in mortal danger, for visualization.

You get off Korriban either a Sith or in a body bag. If anyone cares to bury you elsewhere, that is.

 _Give me the dregs any day._ Not a lick of training in their lives, you have to drive Code and culture home with a kriffing _mallet_ but at least you can’t beat a half-breed slave for incentive.

Yes, he and Harkun might have had it out over that more than once.

_So, what to do with this shavit? I can’t keep him on like this._

Rako’ll hit the battlefield, falter, get himself killed and what is worse, he’ll get the person _next to him_ killed and they won’t even see it coming.

No matter what they tell him about _advancement appropriate support_ Sar bloody refuses to let that kind of threat make it to their frontlines.

They’ve got it hard enough without shooting themselves in the foot.

_Maybe I should just take a page out of the book they keep throwing at me._

Slowly, he opens His Drawer and gets his tea set out. When Rako catches sight of the traditional ceramic pot his breathing falters.

Sar ignores him. Let him know that his teacher needs a _meditation aid_ to deal with his kark so he won’t _strangle_ him.

His stash of Jeru is dwindling faster than he’d like. If he starts to stress-drink it any more quickly he might as well roll it up and _smoke_ it.

“Alright. Here’s the deal.” Sar measures out the leaf and bark, a well-worn habit that lends him a focus that isn’t how _dearly he would like to give that idiot another piece of his mind_ , “I’m taking you off the roster. You’re no good to me without your head on straight.”

He glares a broken sound of protest to silence.

They both wait while the teapot starts to steam gently. Sar for the tea, his pupil because he doesn’t dare twitch under his reptilian scrutiny.

“When we’re done here, you’re going to go to Lady Sana-Rae and you will tell her that you need to ‘explore your inner self to shed light upon your path’.” _Or whatever she calls her private meditation supplemental today, Force help us all._ “You will _keep doing that_ until you can tell me what you want and whether or not you will finish your education with me.”

Sar puts down a tiny cup in front of his possibly-former student like a war declaration. “ _Do you understand_?”

Rako stares into the depths of it as it is filled with golden liquid, on the verge of tears again.

Merciful suns. How he hates it when they start to disperse into snot. He never knows how deal with _that_.

“Yes, overseer.”

“Good. Drink your karking tea.”

 

 

-

 

 

Once Rako’s out the door, Sith and Jedi muster each other over the crockery and its delicately painted blossoming tree branches.

Carefully Sar starts to fill another cup. “Out with it. Whatever you’ve got to say, I don’t have the patience left to wait on you.”

Timmns shoulders are tense but he sits his ass down. After a moment’s hesitation, possibly grounded in the many colourful death threats he has weathered for even looking at his co-workers most prized possessions (his tea set, his lightsabers and his life, not necessarily in that order), he reaches for the shallow bowl.

Jeru’s so sweet it will make your teeth rot and has the texture of syrup. Sar savours the moment Timmns has his first taste and realizes he can’t spit if he doesn’t want to be impolite.

They have some tea in peaceful quiet.

“Why all this? You knew he was struggling why not just,” the Jedi grasps for options, “talk to him sooner. Or coach him. Why make him…”

“Handle his own laser-brained scrap?”

Timmns sighs, deep and heartfelt. “You are his teacher.”

There are things Sar could say to that. So many things, and not a one of them would help. His near-record with the mediational curriculum notwithstanding, he’s not actually a moron.

So he will, for once, show some damned discretion if it kills him and not answer ‘I’m his _first enemy_.’ out of sheer spite.

A Jedi won’t understand that these two things aren’t that far removed from each other. That and he is too tired to pick a fight today, much as he hates to admit it even to himself.

“Damned straight, I’m his teacher. And I have a whole class to teach. What exactly do you expect will happen to that poor bastard if I tell them that with all of his faults he’s my _favorite_?”

Sar doesn’t need to speculate. He _knows_. Her own arm isn’t the only thing Envela would chew through to get her chance to be Sith.

Him hinting at that seems to do scandalous things to Timmns tender morals. “I beg your _pardon_?”

The darksider snorts. “Let me spell it out for you. If I make them think he gets more than his share of my attention, I can _guarantee_ they will find a hole in base security big enough to make him pay for that. I want him to _shape up_ not get a beat down.”

His co-instructor stares at him, dismay in every line of his face. Sar returns the favour, unmoved. “Don’t look like that. They’d be right to do it, too.”

“ ** _What_**?”

Sar can practically see the Jedi gear up for a lecture. _Oh, kriff that glubbish._ He’s not going to take another moment of being fucking _villainized_.

“My time is a commodity Timmns!” Sar catches himself just in time and sets his tea cup down instead of slamming it. “Every _second_ I spend on them is a second they’re farther off from their own _incredibly painful and unnecessary_ death and they know it.”

The smart ones did, at least. The ones that scraped every bit of value out of his presence in the training hall, turned up unasked no matter how often someone told them it was a rest day, until he _threw them out_ because they really _were_ at their limit.

His top ranking acolytes would take one look at Sar wasting _hours_ on trying to pull someone intent on being a burden, lose all respect for their teacher entirely and start planning ways to get rid of that walking detriment to their own chances at survival. And those plans might or might not include their overseer.

As they should. His students deserve better.

He sighs. “You’ve seen them. Tell me a good part of my class doesn’t work themselves to the bone. Rako should be right there with them if he wants to catch up to those that _don’t_ and he isn’t. I can kick his ass every step of the way but when it comes down to it, I can’t make him _walk_. If he doesn’t wise up then there’s nothing I can do for him.”

That simple truth seems to render the Jedi Master speechless.

It’s not as satisfying as Sar thought it would be.

Jeru never is sweet enough to chase the bitterness of failure off his tongue.

 

 


End file.
